


Angel is the Centerfold

by MariaMediaOverThere



Series: Seungchuchu Week Vol. II [7]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Magazine Interviews, Panic, Role Reversal, anxious!phichit, khakis are a sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 20:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12441537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMediaOverThere/pseuds/MariaMediaOverThere
Summary: SeungchuchuWeek 2  Day 6: Shirtsleeves – SkypeWhen the opportunity comes forth for Phichit to get his star to rise, he- promptly- freaks the fuck out.But that's okay, but Seung-Gil tries his best to close the distance and be there.(title from the J. Geils Band song)





	Angel is the Centerfold

 

 

“So the blue H&M shirt with the black pinstripe slacks or the ecru button-up with the embroidery with the knakis?” He held up the two tops by their clothing racks before him.

 

“Why are you asking that as if it’s ever acceptable to wear khakis anymore?” His boyfriend quips sardonically from the other side of the line.

 

“It’s not just khakis, Seung-Gil! They’re premium Dolc-“

 

“Khaaaakiiiiiissss.” The Korean hisses. He doesn’t understand.

 

Phichit huffs, but a smile plays on his lips nonetheless. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“It’s 1 AM and you’ve got half your closet on your floor for a lunch meeting. How again am I the ridiculous one?”

 

Phichit throws his hands up and throws the two tops to the top of the pile steadily building at the foot of his bed. “It’s not just a lunch meeting! It’s the editor-in-chief of the highest-selling Thai street style magazine!” He crumbles, falling to his knees with a resounding thud.

 

 

“Raise your head, Peach, I can’t see you.” Comes the tinny voice from his phone angled carefully on the hamster stuff toy Seung-Gil had given to him with clammy hands months prior.

 

Phichit sinks closer to the floor to spite him.

 

 

“Don’t be like that.”

 

He only whines high as a response. Phichit can feel Seung-Gil roll his eyes from a thousand nautical miles away.

 

“It doesn’t matter what you wear, you’ll charm him. You know that.”

 

Phichit lets up and takes his phone with him down to where he’s splayed out on the floor. “You don’t know that- he probably meets like a hundred beautiful people a day and they- they’re probably-“

 

“They’re not you.”

 

 

The thing about dating Lee Seung-Gil is that he’s so tactless and straight-forward that his honest affectionate remarks are imbued with a strange but exciting power that never fails to make Phichit’s heart climb to his throat. Tonight is no exception.

And yet, it hardly sways the torrent of negative vibes that’s washing Phichit’s body with nerves.

 

Seung-Gil understands that with one look.

 

“Even if he’s somehow an idiot and doesn’t deal you in for the cover, much less the centerfold, Mr. Pisa- Pi…”

 

“Pisanthanakun.”

 

“ _That_ … he can’t deny you. Not with who you are and what you’ve accomplished. If he does, your fans will riot if I don’t.” A quirk of lips that barely conveys through the grainy feed lasts on a fraction of a second, but nonetheless Phichit feels the undercurrent in his chest calming- if only for a fraction.

“If it’s just a small feature, well… you’re determined. You can work your way up, make a whole success story about it, write a book. People are doing that nowadays right? Autobiographies? It’s pretty dumb but I’m sure yours-“

 

“Thank you.” It’s breathier that Phichit expeted his voice to come out, but he just had mistimed it with an inhale from the rush of emotions. “Thank you.”

The haziness hasn’t dispersed, but something innate has been quelled; words of love are few and far between, you’ll really have to squint for them in regards to Seung-Gil. But it’s like a treasure hunt, he gushes to his friend-slash-makeup-artist Guang-Hong, it makes them more valuable.

 

Seung-Gil’s lips are thin and he nods once. Twice. His dialogue stopping short and recalibrating. “Wear the black turtleneck.”

 

“The one you gave me?” The flush of color on his pale face means yes in Phichit’s book. “It’s like 40 degrees!”

 

“Then don’t,” Seung-Gil huffs, embarrassed instead of annoyed- at least how Phichit understands it, and he’s known to be very perceptive on his boyfriend’s little actions. “But you know… you can like… It was mine so… It’s like I’m embracing you so if you get scared-“

 

“AAAAHHHHHH-“

 

“Stop screaming. You’ll wake up your neighbors.”

 

“I CAAAAAHHHNNN’TTT-“

 

“Ridiculous.” He crinkles his nose in a show of disgust, but his eyebrows are soft. “You’ll be great, like you always are.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And he was.

Seung-Gil received his very own copy, courtesy of an excited Phichit. What his boyfriend doesn't know is that the Korean ordered another one. What Phichit gave he keeps on the coffee table, and the second one, he tore out the centerfold and laminated.

That work of art is kept blue-tacked to the wall of the left of his bed.

Now, Seung-Gil has a routine of sleeping on his side. He takes advantage of his little habits to make sure he wakes up in the best possible way.

You'd think the idiosyncrasy of it would eventually wear off...

 

...but Seung-Gil discovers that Phichit's halo does not dull.

And it never will.


End file.
